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A cavalcade

A cavalcade of castaways
scorned in the mists,
fragment into tribal tapestries
that interweave within all
things that must persist with
their essential inborn violence,
with their battle-scarred rage to live

Left my shoes in a rush
on the 18th floor— dreamt I
had to get out of there quick
If the elevator won’t stop there
again then I can’t go back
We ate together, had sex together,
vacationed together, loved each other

Mostly old people eat here
None of them recognize me
so they leave me alone
There’s no time when some live
thing isn’t devoured by another
I feel good when I’m inside you and
this universe has reason

Each sleeve contours its limits
Saw myself mirrored in some glass
as I left the train and realized that
I look radically different now
The tulips that thrive around a dank,
dirt hole are like an equation that’s truer
than the reality it describes

I saw the Capital in the DC mist
Glad to see it still there despite
the shits who lord it over us now
So I took a picture with my phone
In the picture the Capital disappears
She ignites my hunger and
this game owes me nothing

I remember how Jean Ray
looked forward to the officer’s meetings
This one was funny, that one insightful
All of them so ethical and intelligent
Harry was especially brilliant
Called her Mrs. Ray and always
made her feel worthy

The further away in time and space
the further the big structures illuminate
We delineate our precisions
like a broken heart bashed long ago,
like little drops of rain that drip
on spare Spring branches—
like a florid ratio of motion and rest

Prime thoughts are everyone’s thoughts,
how what we are to ourselves
can’t be sustained and how we can’t
even truly entertain imaginary thoughts
of non-existence—neither random
nor senseless, our best work is
found—not made

 

 

-May 5, 2017-